For Auld Lang Syne
by Well I Don't Mind
Summary: "I had a photo of him in my pocket, and I pulled it out and looked at it through the darkness. I ran my fingers over the handsome face with that semi-long, black hair and those dark eyes and the crooked nose. He was my da. His name was Filip Telford, and he didn't know I was his." Takes place during season 5.


**Summary:** "I had a photo of him in my pocket, and I pulled it out and looked at it through the darkness. I ran my fingers over the handsome face with that semi-long, black hair and those dark eyes and the crooked nose. He was my da. His name was Filip Telford, and he didn't know I was his. "

Katie McDougal is looking for her father, an outlaw biker named Filip Telford.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sons of Anarchy. The title of the story is from the Scottish traditional "Auld Lang Syne".

Enjoy!

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**For Auld Lang Syne**

It was strange, it was, driving on the wrong side of the road. I kept forgetting about it, and once in a while, I nearly crashed into another car. Got my blood pump working, alright! I was tired, almost sitting crossed-eyed looking out the wind shield. It had been dark for quite some time now, and soon enough, I would have to find a place to stop for some sleep. The side of the road worked just fine. I had been tired ever since I landed. It would be six o'clock in the morning in the UK right now, and I would be getting up for work after a long night's sleep. But not now, oh no, because I had decided to go on an adventure to America, of all places.

While lying down on my lowered seat, looking up at the stars through the sunroof, I couldn't help but to think about mum. Maybe she was up there, looking at me, thinking I was crazy for looking for him. Maybe she smiled at it, at my attempt of finding my roots, finding the reason to why I am what I am.

I heard motorcycles roaring in the distance, and the sounds were comforting. I guess I had always liked bikes, and I guess the typical life that came with it had its charm. I wasn't surprised when I found out that mum had had an affair with an outlaw biker while on a business trip in Belfast. That was probably her biggest fantasy. Her husband wasn't so adventurous, so I'm not surprised she went on shagging someone else. I was just surprised she didn't have others. No, but apparently, this biker was special. I had a photo of him in my pocket, and I pulled it out and looked at it through the darkness. I ran my fingers over the handsome face with that semi-long, black hair and those dark eyes and the crooked nose. He was my da. His name was Filip Telford, and he didn't know I was his. I had only seen this worn out photograph and heard my mum talk about him, but I had never met him. I didn't even know if he was still alive. I had dug up thing about SAMC, Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, in Newcastle, shite in newspapers and what not, and most of the things written about them weren't pretty. Mum had said that da was a member of the club's Belfast chapter, but because of the Real IRA, he had to be transferred to the original chapter in California, US. It was all very complicated, she said. So, taking the reputation of the motorcycle club, combined with the complications with the Real IRA, it wouldn't surprise me to be given the directions to his gravestone, if he even had one. I had accepted that fact long ago. Then, I didn't go any further into it. I was just happy, really, to know that Brian wasn't my real da.

Mum told me about Filip when I was twelve. I had had a pointless argument with Brian which had escalated into something much bigger, and ended with me smacking him across the face, harder than most twelve-year-olds would be able to muster. That resulted in a box on the ear from Brian, and I was then grounded for, in Brian's own words, life. I didn't even get a plate of supper that evening. I could hear mum and Brian fight downstairs, and a lot of door-slamming. Eventually, I heard the front door slam shut, and the car roared away in the distance. Mum had then come into my room, crying, and wrapped me into her arms, telling me that she would never let Brian hurt me again. That was when she told me about my real da. It was a shock at first, sure it was, and would have been for any twelve-year-old, but after a few minutes, I accepted it, and even rejoiced in it. I didn't share Brian's bad blood, and from that evening, I would dream about my real da, Filip Telford, coming and beat the shite out of Brian. It was only a dream, of course, and things between me and Brian did not get any better. At least now, I had a newfound confidence. When I got older, I started asking mum more and more questions about my biker da, and sometimes she would gladly talk about him, and sometimes she didn't say a word. When I was fourteen, I found out that he was married, and had a nine-year-old daughter back in Ireland, but I also found out that they had been taken by someone from the Real IRA. When I had asked mum how she knew all this, she decided to be silent. She didn't tell me another thing concerning Filip Telford.

When I was sixteen, mum divorced Brian. It was a long and tiring process, and he – for some mystical reason I'll never understand – pressed for having me every other week. Mum refused, and so did I. Not that my opinion mattered, anyway… Brian kept on saying that he should be able to be with his only daughter, and that seemed like the perfect time for mum to rub it in the prick's face, that I _wasn't _his daughter. This led to a paternity test, which revealed that I, indeed, wasn't his daughter, and we both were rid of him forever. With this acknowledgement, my curiosity got the best of me, and that was when I started to dig into the story of Filip Telford. I didn't get much, more than a few criminal charges. When I was eighteen, I made the decision to try and reach out to my half-sister, Kerrianne. She was then thirteen, and I hoped that was a good age to learn that she had a sister. And she did answer me, after a few months, saying she had spent a long time processing what I had said, and that she at first was mad, but that she now was glad. She told me what she knew about our da, but it wasn't that much. She hadn't met him since she was a baby, and she, as well as I, only had the picture our mothers had painted for us. Though, she had a bigger picture than that, and sent me an old photo her mum had saved, on Filip in his early twenties. I had to show the picture to mum, obviously, and even though she was glad to see the photo, she was enraged when she found out I had been talking to Kerrianne, saying it was dangerous for me, and that the Real IRA might come after me after this. But I told her, told her it was alright. Kerrianne would tell her mum about me. That secret was safe.

I ran out of information to find after a year or so, and to be honest, I had too much going on with university, boyfriends, work and shite. But then, only a few of months ago now, I received that call no daughter wants to receive; my mother had sadly passed away in a violent car crash. While going through her things, I found a bunch of letter in a box under the floor board, and they were all coming from a Filip Telford. Some from Belfast, Ireland, but the latest from Charming, US. Evidently, she had had contact with him for quite some time after their night together, and she had told him about me. Only not that I was his.

Five months later, I was now lying on a lowered car seat in California, US, on my way to the town called Charming where the letters had led me. I slept like a baby, and woke up early morning at sunrise. The orange sun against the desert drowned me in a sea of copper light, and after a yawn and a stretch I fired up the engine and continued on my way.

I knew I was heading the right direction when I was passed by two or three bikers, all wearing the same logo on the vest, _Sons of Anarchy. _Aye, I was heading in the right direction. My belly felt it, too, and I found my hands shaking with excitement and nervousness. What if he wouldn't believe me? Who was I to just show up and say, "hey, I'm yer lost daughter!" without hard facts? All I knew was what mum had told me, and what if she lied? Sure enough, Filip Telford did exist, it wasn't that. And Brian wasn't my father, and mum had sworn that she hadn't been with anyone else than Filip and Brian. But still… the nervousness quickly passed over to nausea as I passed the sign welcoming me to Charming, and I strongly considered turning back, and letting my picture of my da be unspoiled. Maybe he was a terrible person when it all came down to it? What then? I didn't know if I would be able to stand the disappointment. But this was my chance to know. I had wondered since I was twelve, and that was ten years ago. I couldn't turn back now.

The town looked serene and calm, and not exactly what I had imagined. I'm not exactly sure of what I had imagined, but it wasn't this. I stopped at a diner for my breakfast, and allowed myself some time to think while sipping my morning tea. I looked out the window and watched how people walked by. None of them looked like a biker, they all just looked like normal American people. I took out my old Polaroid from my bag and took a snapshot out the window. My fired eggs and bacon had turned cold once I decided to finish, and when I paid, I asked the waitress if she knew anything about the motorcycle club. At first, she seemed shocked and a bit frightened by it, but then she softened up.

"Watcha want with 'em folks, darlin'?" she asked, carrying a broad southern accent.

"Family matters," I smiled back.

"I love your accent!" she smiled. "Where d'you come from?"

"Scotland."

"Oh, then you must've a travelled pretty darn long way, dontcha?"

"Aye."

She nodded. "Right, well, just down the main street and make a left. Couple o'miles, and there will be a sign sayin' 'Teller-Morrow', and that's where you'll find 'em."

"Thank ye," I nodded.

The town didn't seem too big, and her directions were simple enough. I found the sign, and before I made a turn into the big yard, I took a deep breath. Dozens of bikes stood lined up on one side, and broke down cars was lined up on the other side. It was an automotive repair shop, and I had a man with greasy hands, and pale blue, predatory eyes come meet me. I rolled down my window.

"Nice ride," he said and leaned against the window frame. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

I looked at him, and my stomach rolled over. I wasn't repulsed by him, but I suddenly got more nervous than ever. This was when I had to say that I was looking for a man named Filip Telford, and this was the moment when I was going to know whether or not he was still alive.

He seemed to notice a change in me, as his lips curled into a smile, making his black moustache follow the curve. "Don't worry, darlin', we'll find out what's wrong." He walked up to the front of the car. "Pop the hood."

"Oh no!" I hurried to say and stepped out of the car, grabbing my camera and my handbag in the speed. "There's nothin' wrong with me car, it's a rental!"

He furrowed his heavy, black brows, and the blue eyes seemed to be looking right through me. "Y'got at nice accent there, sweetheart," he said, but his brows were still furrowed. He eyed me and then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the hood. "Where do you come from?"

I hesitated before I answered, "the UK."

He nodded. "Well, what are you doing here if your car's fine? Lookin' for someone?"

Our eyes met, and I clenched my jaw. This was it. I nodded. "Aye, actually, I am. I—I'm… lookin' for a man called…" I sighed deeply. "I'm lookin' for a Filip Telford."

A smile spread across the man's lips, and he nodded. "I figured." He then straightened and motioned me to walk with him. "He's in here somewhere. I'm Tig, by the way." He held out a hand for me to shake, and I greeted it with my own.

"Katie." We shook hands, but the way he eyed me made me pull it back pretty quickly and head towards the garage, with Mr Improper tailing me. I hurried to turn and take his picture, and he seemed rather surprised, but didn't question me. The garage was as expected, and the smell of iron and grease hit my nose, but not in a disgusting way. No, I actually liked the smell. It seemed familiar, somehow.

"Hey, Chibs!" the man, Tig, shouted. "You got a visitor! Just wait here, sweetheart. Hey, Chibs! Chop-chop!" He winked at me before he went back to work, and I narrowed my eyes. Such a bloody womaniser. I hated that kind.

"Wha' are ye shoutin' for?!" The strong accent hit me like a brick wall, and it felt like my heart dropped like a stone and exploded in my chest, all at the same time. I couldn't stand still, and shifted from one foot to another back and forth. I hung the camera around my neck and put my hands in my pockets, and felt the picture of da press against my hand. I swallowed. Out from a doorway came a man, with beetle eyes and dark hair, and I knew, at the first sight, that it was my da. It was my father. It was the same man as in the photo pressing against my hand, only a bit older, with an aged face and with grey strands in his hair, but with the spirit and dignity of a man in his prime. But in the ecstatic realisation, I saw the horrible Glasgow Grin adoring his face, and I gasped. I had read about it in one of his letter to mum, but I had never seen anything like it. He looked up, and came to a sudden halt. He looked at me, his dark brows furrowed, as he eyed me. If I wasn't mistaken, there were horror and confusion written in his face, but he quickly shook it off and continued towards me. "Can I help ye?"

I took a deep breath. "Mr Telford?"

"Mr Telford was me da," he said, still looking very suspicious. "Call me Chibs. An' who're you, love?"

I extended my hand. "Katie MacDougal." He took it, but his eyes still examined me as if he tried to decide whether or not I was someone to be cautious with. "Jennifer MacDougal's daughter."

He let go of my hand, and let it fall lifeless on his side. "Ye're Jen's lass?"

"Aye," I nodded, pleased that he remembered her.

He seemed to struggle with the fact. "Wha' ye doin' here?"

I sighed. "Jennifer – um, mum – passed away a couple o' months ago."

"Oh…" He looked down on his hands and fiddled with a dirty towel. "I'm sorry te hear tha', love."

I nodded.

He sighed. "Look, love, I don' wanna be rude, but wha' are ye doin' here? In Charmin', I mean? Why are ye lookin' for me?"

I smiled nervously. "I… is there somewhere we could sit down? Talk a wee bit?"

He raised his eyebrows, clearly confused. "Aye. We… um, follow me." I followed him back into what I suspected to be the club hall, with a bar, tables and chairs, stereo system, pool table, obscene posters of naked women on the walls, smelling of liquor and leather… aye, this was a club house, alright. I took one or two photos before Filip motioned me to sit down by a table, and he ordered a poor looking sod to make us some coffee. As I sat down, I pulled by handbag to my knee to pull out the pile of letters.

"I… found some letters in mum's room," I said and placed them on the table. Filip didn't speak. "Ye knew her. Pretty well, too, to tell by the letters."

He sighed. "Aye, we were friends."

"Why did ye stop writin' her?" I tried to keep my voice as soft as possible.

He shook his head. "Look, kid, yer mum an' I were good friends. I stopped writin' her because of her own good." He sighed. "Did ye go all the way te America just to tell me I sent yer mum letters, or is there somethin' ye came here to tell me?"

His piercing glare made my hands sweat, and I sighed deeply. "Aye, there's somethin' else, as well." Another deep breath. "The first letter was sent in November 1988." I opened it. "Ye wrote tha' ye can' think about anythin' else but her since tha' night, or as you put it, 'that lovely night in June'. Quite the poet…"

He looked at me, seemingly a bit restless. "Get te the point, love."

"I am born in March 1989." I looked at him, but his face was unreadable. Finally, I pulled out a copy of Brian's paternal test from my bag and placed it on the table and slid it over to him.

"Wha's this?"

"Tha's Jennifer's husband's, Brian MacDougal's, paternal test, and as ye can see, he isn't me da." I took another deep breath and looked down on the table. "I think ye are."

Filip didn't say anything.

I looked up, and found him looking back at me, but not angrily, or even surprised. "Well? Wha' do ye think?"

He nodded, and as the poor lad served us coffee, Filip smiled. "I knew tha' the moment I saw ye."

I furrowed my brows. What did he mean?

He must have noticed my confusion and pulled out his wallet at handed an old picture to me. It was a photo in black and white, and staring at me, from the past, was a mirroring of myself. That dark, long hair, that nose, those cheeks… the eyes were light, not like Filip's, but like… _mine_, and the woman on the picture even had the same smile as me.

I looked up at him, in shock. "Who is this?"

"Tha's me mother," he said. "Yer the spittin' image of her." He slowly nodded as he took his first sip of his coffee. "Oh, I knew."

I didn't know what to say. I had imagined coming here, dropping the news on him like a bomb, and I expected rejection, or dislike, and speechlessness from him, only to find myself speechless instead.

His face cracked up in a smile, and if I wasn't mistaken, there were tears in his eyes. "Yer me wee lass!"

I chuckled, feeling the pressure release my chest, and relief filled my body. "Well, _da_, I'm not a wee lass anymore. Ye missed tha' train." I fiddled with the letter. "Did ye… was it a surprise te see me, or did ye have yer suspicions?"

He took another sip of his coffee. "She never gave me any leads," he said. "I knew about ye, but all I ever knew was tha' ye're Brian's lass. Sure enough, I had me suspicions, but maybe they were more hopes than suspicions."

"Ye wanted a family with her?"

He looked me in the eye. "I can' lie te ye, love, but no, I didn'. I loved yer mother, but I wasn' in love with her. I jus' didn' want the baby te have a da like Brian. Rather me than him, was me thought."

I nodded. "Understandable. I was twelve when mum told me 'bout ye."

To this, he seemed a bit shocked. "She told ye? How could she be sure? Why would she tell ye tha'?!"

I furrowed my brows. "I hated Brian. We had a row, an' he slapped me about, an' tha's when she told me he wasn' me da. Only thing she told me after tha' was yer name an' tha' ye're a biker. Nothin' else. She didn' tell me 'bout the letters."

He nodded, seemingly calm again. "Aye, it was our secret. I guess I've never gobbed so much bollocks in me entire life." He chuckled. "Cried out like a wee girl in those letters, I did! We stopped shortly after I'd moved from Ireland. I thought it was best."

"Why?"

He sighed. "Well, it's a long story, lassie."

"I have no rush." I placed my elbow onto the table and leaned my chin in my hand and focused entirely on Filip Telford while I took a sip of my coffee.

He just looked at me intensely, and after a while, he cried out laughing, shaking his head and covering his face with his hands. "It's so bloody mental! Ye look exactly – _exactly! _– like me old ma! An' tha' look! Jesus, lass, I haven' seen tha' look since I was ten!"

I blushed. But it was a good feeling. It gave me a sense of belonging. I had feared that he might reject me, but instead, he accepted the fact with a heartfelt laugh, telling me that I was a copy of my grandmother – my _real_ grandmother. But I would let his wee side-track tackle me. "So, tell me; why was it best for ye to stop talkin' with mum?"

He sighed. "Love, I don' think ye understand wha' kind of man I am."

Again, I reached down to dig up some papers from my bag. "Ye have done time in Belfast for criminal gang activity an' possible connections with the Real IRA." I raised an eyebrow. "I think I have a pretty good idea of who ye are, _da_."

He seemed horrified and impressed, all at the same time, but then he clenched his jaw. "Christ, girl!" He tore the papers out of my hand and looked at them. "Where did ye find these?! Who did ye talk to?!"

I chuckled. "Don' ye worry. I study journalism. These things aren't so hard to find if ye know where to look. Besides, ye gave away enough in the letters."

He sighed, clearly frustrated, and tossed me the papers. "Well, aye! I'm not an all honest man, alright! I've done things. Tha' was why I stopped writin' Jen. I pissed off the Real IRA, and had to flee the country. I was afraid they might come after yer mum as well."

"Did ye explain tha' to her?" I knew he didn't. If I had known my mother right, she had sent him a reply to his last letter, and waited for his reply until the day she died. But I wanted to hear it from him.

He sighed. "No." He took a sip of his coffee. "But ye already knew tha', didn' ye? Ye've read the letters. I knew I should have told her why, but I didn' know wha' te say."

"The truth?" I looked at him. "All ye told her was tha' ye had some problem with the Real IRA. Nothin' else. Oh…" I cleared my throat. "An' ye told her about yer family. About Fiona, an' Kerrianne."

He looked down on the table and sighed deeply. "Aye. I did."

"Ye love 'em, don't ye?"

"Aye." He looked up. "But ye must understand; I didn' know! I didn' know ye were mine! If I had known, I would've reached out, ye know tha', don't ye?"

I nodded. "Aye." I looked down onto the table. How would I tell him that I had reached out to Kerrianne? How would he react? Like if I was invading his private life? "If ye would've known," I started, "would ye have told 'em? About me, I mean?"

He sat silent for a moment, thinking about what to say next. Then he sighed. "Probably. I would have te. Fiona would've killed me, but I wouldn' be able te lie to 'em. I wouldn' want te hide ye."

"Wha' about Kerrianne?" I asked. "Ye think she'd wanted a sister?"

"Aye!" he smiled. "She's so fragile, me wee lass. Bein' put down again an' again by tha' scumbag Jimmy O—" He cut himself short and clenched his jaw. "She would've needed a sister."

"Good," I said. "'Cause I've already talked to her."

He flung his eyes on me. "Ye wha'?!"

I nodded. "Couple o' years ago, now. She was thirteen. Took her well over three months to reply, but she did, sayin' she was glad I'd reached out."

"She… she said tha'?" He spoke silently, as if he was talking to himself.

"Aye," I nodded and took a sip of my coffee. "She said she was glad she had family elsewhere, in case she ever needed runnin' away."

He sighed deeply, made a face, and crossed his arms over the table and placed his head firmly in the crook him his arm. He took a couple of deep breaths before he straightened up. It was all coming to him now, I could tell. He raised his brows, shifted in his seat a couple of times before he even tried to speak. "Ye did… all this? Ye found out where I lived, ye contacted me daughter, ye made a research about me… why?"

"I wanted te know who me da was." I was ready for this. I knew how to handle this. He was starting to realise he'd created another life on this earth besides his beloved daughter, and he started to realise that he didn't know how to handle it, even though I looked like his mother. I sighed. "Look, ye don' have te feel tha' ye have a responsibility. I'm all grown up. I don' need a da like tha'. I just wanted te see ye. Hell, I just wanted to know whether or not ye were alive!"

"No, I—" He sighed deeply and reached over the table to take my hand in his. "I'm glad ye did it!" He sighed again, and then he smiled. "Ye know, I love me daughter. More than anythin' in the world. Ye comin' here, tellin' me this… just gives me more te love, and trust me, I could need tha' right now." There was a glimmer in the man's eye, and it suddenly stabbed my heart; he was lonely. And why would he be anything else? His wife and daughter were back in Ireland, and he probably hadn't seen them for God knows how long. His other love had been stuck in Edinburgh, and was now dead and gone. He was far away from his home, from his roots, and seeing that glimmer, feeling his hand against mine, I knew that family might be what he needed. And maybe, just maybe, he felt that family was what I needed as well. Lucky the two of us made one accidental family.

"Ye hungry?" he suddenly asked.

I wasn't, really. I couldn't have been more than an hour ago since I had had my breakfast, but looking at the clock on the wall, it was lunch time. Filip was probably hungry by now, and if he asked me, well, that must mean he wanted me to come along. Perhaps chat a bit more. "Aye," I lied.

"Well then," he said and rose, "let's grab somethin' to eat. If we're lucky we might find some real food around here."

I nodded. "Aye, Americans make shitty tea."

Filip laughed, a loud, barking laugh, just like I had somewhat imagined my biker da to laugh. "I'm just gonna change, love. Five seconds." He left me by the table and disappeared further into the club house somewhere, and I sat with my legs crossed, drumming nervously at the empty cup of coffee. I scanned about. Only the poor looking sod was around, and he kept throwing glances at me, but I ignored him. A moment later, a door opened up, and a blonde man, wearing a black cap and having this kind of swaggering walk, entered the club house, with a phone stuck to his ear.

"No, babe, it's okay," he said. "N—no—Tara—Tara, I'll deal—yeah. Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah. No, it's fine. Yeah. Look babe, I'll deal with it, okay? You don't have to worry! Yes! Uh huh. Okay baby, love you. Yeah. Bye." When he placed his phone back in his pocket, he greeted the poor sod with telling him to go clean up the garage, and then he settled his eyes on me, blue eyes, gentle eyes. "Can I help you?"

"No, I'm fine," I smiled. "I'm just waitin' for… um, Chibs."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Damn… didn't know Chibs like 'em _that_ young. Nice."

I narrowed my eyes, trying my hardest to keep from understanding what the man had just said, but failed miserably and shuddered of how disturbing that was. "No," I said and furrowed my brows. "I'm only here for a visit. I'm a… family friend from Scotland."

The man's eyes widened in embarrassment and surprise. "Oh, geez, sorry! Um…" He strode up to me and reached his hand out. "I'm Jax Teller, Chibs' boss."

I nodded while shaking his hand. "'Teller-Morrow'… I'm Katie MacDougal."

"Cool," Jax said and sat down where da had just sat. "Didn' know Chibs had family still living in Scotland."

I smiled iffily. "Neither did he."

He looked puzzled, but then he chuckled a bit. "Okay?"

"Don' worry," I waved him off, "it's a long story."

"I've got time." His friendly smile made me want to tell him that I was Filip's long lost daughter, but I didn't know if I was in the right position to tell da's boss. But I was saved by the man himself as he came back from wherever he'd gone, now dressed in black jeans with heavy chains hanging from his belt (and if I wasn't mistaken, a knife hung there, as well), a brown button down shirt with a silver cross hanging from a chain half way down his chest and a leather vest with the same logo I had seen on the highway. Out of his mechanics overall, he actually looked like a bad ass biker with a pair of sunglasses on top of his head and with that adventurous gleam in his eyes. I took a photo, and when Jax seemed confused by it, I took his as well.

"Ready, love?" Filip asked as he walked towards me, now with a complete different posture and confidence than before. Perhaps it was the change of clothes, or perhaps it was the short moment by himself that made it. I didn't know. "Hey there, Jackie-boy."

"Chibs," Jax said and nodded. "A visit from the Land of Mist and Rain, I hear."

"Aye." Da placed his hands on his hips in a very relaxed pose. "Nothin' as good as a Scottish lass, ey? Don' mind me sayin' it, Jackie-boy, but this lass right here," he pointed at me with a devilish smirk, "put yer pretty Tara in the shadows, aye!"

A smirk spreak across Jax's lips as well, and again, I tried hard not to understand what he was implying. Instead, I rose. "Aye, I'm ready. Where are we goin'?"

"Dunno," Filip said and tore his attention from his and Jax's silent conversation. "A place where they've got food is a good start, I think."

"Aye," I laughed.

"Well, Jackie-boy," he said and patted Jax on the shoulder. "Don' mind if I take the afternoon off, do ye? I've got a Scottish lass to show about town, ye know."

"Do what you have to do," Jax said, still smirking.

Filip then headed towards the exit, and when passing me, he placed a hand on my back and led me out the club house. The hand on my back didn't feel strange or unfamiliar. Quite the opposite; it felt like it was moulded to my back, as if we were a part of each other, which we were. He led me to the row of bikes in the yard, and handed me a helmet. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but he promised me it was okay and that he would take it easy.

"Ye've got te ride at least once," he laughed, "or else I'll disinherit ye."

"Funny," I sneered as I put the camera in my bag, and I put the helmet on and straddled the bike behind him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, feeling the leather of his kutte against my cheek, hearing the roaring of the bike and feeling the vibrations from it, was all sort of familiar. I couldn't explain it in any other words than that it was in my blood, and I could feel it.

"Hold on now, love!" he shouted at me over the roaring of the engine, and I grabbed on tighter, and then we were on the move. The wind blowing in my hair, and the tickling feeling in my belly caused by the speed was ecstatic. I loved every second of it, and I found myself smiling foolishly, like a child on Christmas morning. We drove through town, back and forth, a couple of times before we stopped outside a fancy looking diner. Both of us looked sceptically at the building without even dismounting the bike.

"Well, te be honest, I'd rather eat some cottage pie than pretend te be some posh bastard," I said and shook my head.

Filip boomed out a laugh, a harsh yet loving laugh. "Aye! Ye just read me mind, love."

"Well," I said and smirked, "not te brag or anythin', but ye've produced one hell of a Scottish chef, _da_."

"Oh," he huffed with a smirked and turned to look at me with raised eyebrows. "Ye haven' seen _my_ skills."

I frowned. "Well, considering tha' ye've been out of Scotland for about, what? A hundred years or so? I don' think ye stand a chance, honestly."

He narrowed his eyes. "Is tha' a challenge I smell?"

"Call it whatever ye want," I shrugged. "I'll still win."

"We'll see about tha'!" he barked and turned to once again start his bike, and we were off.

It was more than everything I'd ever dared to hope for. Filip and I were so alike in so many ways, everything from personal taste to what we found hilarious. It was strange, how we bonded so fast and so firmly, but after our wee cooking competition (which I won, as expected), it was as if we'd always known each other. He told me about how he lost his family, and he told me about how he'd killed Jimmy O, giving him the same Glasgow Grin that he had given my da so many years earlier. I can't say that I was proud of his ruthless way of life, with all the violence and booze and women, but I was pretty sure he had that on himself already. He didn't need my judgement, and I had no right to judge him. I had a sense that Chibs and Filip were two different people. The nasty stuff was all Chibs' doing, while his private self was Filip. His place was a total contrast from the man I'd met at the garage with those greasy hands and then coming out, dressed like a biker rocker. His apartment was clean and spacious, without filthy clothes on the floor, without dirty dishes in the sink, and he even ordered me to take my shoes off right inside the door, complaining about his friends, his _brothers_, who never took their dirty shoes off. He said that his home was his castle, and in his castle, he wanted to just _be_. He had stacks and stacks, row after row with books; classics like Hemmingway and Kafka, and in his carefully organised bookshelves, there was also a collection of classical music, with both Scottish and Irish traditional music.

"It's like a remedy for the soul," he said when he found me inspecting it. The records with Mozart and Beethoven were gracefully placed in a stack next to the records with The Chieftains and the Paul McKenna Band. He also had an entire stack for Loreena McKennitt records only. When founding it, I turned to him, pointed at it and raised my brows.

"Ye listen to Loreena McKennitt?"

He shrugged. "As I said, remedy for the soul." He then smirked. "But ye haven' seem me real collection." With that he opened a large cabinet, in which there were rows after rows with records and LP's. They were organised by name, letter, year, everything! There were Beatles, Dylan, the Stones, Zeppelin, Metallica, Leppard, Van Halen, ZZ Top, Eagles, Toto… I was horrified and overjoyed at the same time. All I could do was to stare at it with a sheepish grin on my face.

Filip chuckled and place a hand on my shoulder. "I promise, tha' when I die, this will be yers."

I looked at him, big-eyed. "Wha'?"

He shrugged. "Nah, Kerrianne doesn' like this kind o' music. She's more into the…" he waved with his hand, trying to find the right word, "…hipster stuff, or whatever ye kids call it. Coldplay, Morrissey, tha' kind o' shite. Now, this," he motioned his collection as if it was a holy relic, "this is me legacy. This, and the books."

It was all so familiar, all the wee moves he did, all the wee sounds he made while talking, and his loud, harsh laugh. It was as if I knew how he would sound before I met him, because now, it was so natural. We had a cup of tea, and we laughed and talked, and he said he was bloody proud of me to have gone to university. I told him I wasn't done just yet, that a lot could happen, but he just shook his head and said that if I was anything like him, I would finish what I'd started. _A Telford never gives up_. That's what he said, with pride.

"Ye came here, didn' ya?" he said with a glimmer in his eyes. "Tha' must've taken a hell lot of courage, love."

"Aye," I nodded. "I thought ye'd reject me."

He laughed. "Well, if it wasn' because I thought I saw me mother's ghost, I might have."

"I guess I was lucky then, eh?"

He shook his head. "No. I was."

We spent another hour or two – or was it three? Time flew, for all I knew – before he asked me if I wanted to go back to the club house and get a proper introduction. I accepted, feeling it would be an honour to be presented as his daughter to the club he considered to be his family. And, to be honest, it would feel good to be able to rub it in Jax's face, that I wasn't some wee skank, as I _knew _his betraying looks back in the garage suggested.

It felt good to be back on the bike, and I believe Filip took a wee detour so that we could ride longer. I didn't mind. In fact, I loved it. We arrived back at the garage and the club house, only to find that they were all there. Da said I couldn't have come a better time, because they were having a birthday party for a wee boy, Jax's son Able, and that now, I would really get to meet them all.

I felt a bit underdressed in my worn out jeans and my red flannel shirt with the Polaroid hanging from my chest as I stepped into the club house only to find all the other women dressed up in tight and short dresses, or at least a bit nicer looking clothes, but at the same time, I was glad I wasn't dressed like a porn star, which a lot of the women were. The men, all having their kuttes on, greeted da with shouting, "_Chibby!_" and giving him a beer. He then hugged that man with those predatory eyes – Tig, I believed he was called – and leaned back against the bar.

"Man, I haven't seen you all day!" Tig cried.

"No, I've been busy," Filip said and took a sip of his beer.

"Yeah, so have I," said the pale eyed man and placed his hand over his genitals, and motioned towards a blonde young girl, probably my age, over at the dart board.

Filip laughed and pushed him lightly back, and Tig held his palms up, smirking while he kept repeating, "What?" again and again.

I was repulsed and rolled my eyes. Not my cup of tea, this was. I kept in the background, a bit nervous. I could imagine that if a girl was to be taken seriously by these fellows, she would have to have some backbone, which I had plenty of, so why was I so bloody nervous?

Jax found me though, and walked up to me with a boy I assumed was his son on his arm. "Found somewhere to eat?"

"Aye," I said and straightened. Oh, I couldn't wait to see his shameful expression as he learnt to know that I was Filip's _daughter_.

He nodded. "So, where from Scotland are you?"

"Edinburgh," I replied. So far, he was civil. No snide comments. I nodded towards the boy. "Is tha' yer son?"

"Yeah," Jax smiled, and he seemed genuinely proud of the boy on his arm, who seemed shy and leaned against his father's shoulder. "This is Able. Able, you wanna say hi to the lady?"

The boy leaned his forehead against Jax's cheek. "Hi…"

"Hello there," I smiled. "I'm Katie!"

"Hi Katie," the boy murmured and turned his face in shyness.

"Oh, don't be shy!" Jax chuckled. "That's a friend of Uncle Chibs'!" When the boy didn't want to turn again, Jax sighed. "Well, grab yourself something to drink! A friend of Chibs' is a friend of mine!"

I nodded and took a deep breath before I headed towards the bar where Filip stood chatting with Tig. When he saw me coming, he turned to me. "Are ye alright, love?"

I nodded, a bit uncomfortable by Tig's eyes on me. "Aye."

"Ye want a beer?"

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. I'm drivin' later, so…"

He frowned. "Ye're not stayin'?"

"Well, aye, but I've got te get to the hotel, don' I?"

"Hotel?!" He almost seemed angry. "Ye're not stayin' at a bloody hotel! Ye're stayin' with me! A hotel?! Christ!"

"Tell me, Chibs," Tig cut in. "Where did you find such a lovely little creature?" His eyes… oh, those eyes were making me want to punch him really hard in the face!

"Oh no, Tiggy," Filip warned and put a hand out. "She's all hands off, okay?"

"No, I know, I get it!" Tig said and raised his palms. "I just… wanna know where you found her. In case, I'd want one myself." He smirked, and I narrowed my eyes.

"Nah, ye filthy prick!" Filip spat. He then placed his bottle on the counter, and I was afraid that da might actually punch Tig in the face, and Tig seemed to be thinking the same thing. Instead, da looked around and took a deep breath. "Hey, everyone!" They all turned to him. "I want ye te meet me _daughter_!" He pulled me beside him, with a triumphant and proud grin, but I just wanted to stay hidden in the shadows.

The crowd was silent, probably in shock. I didn't blame them.

Tig seemed confused. "That's Kerrianne?"

"No, that's not Kerrianne!" It was a man with thick, grey beard and curly grey hair that spoke.

"No," Filip agreed. "It's not Kerrianne. It's me other daughter. Katie."

I was surprised of how fast acceptance travelled through the crowd as they all cracked up in smiles and came up to greet me. Even Tig apologised for his behaviour, and he turned out to be a really nice man; strange but nice. I got to meet Jax's wife, Tara, and their youngest son Thomas, and Jax's mother, Gemma, and Happy, and Bobby – the bearded man that established that I wasn't Kerrianne – and Phil, and Clay, and Juice – who said we were practically family, since Chibs had been the closest thing to a father he'd ever had. Juice was also the one showing me around that evening, and he was very sweet. Though Filip didn't want me to be far from his sight, and most of the night, I found myself sitting by his table, even if he was talking shite with his friends, or playing poker or whatever. We took pictures of each other, and I got one really interesting photo on da and Happy, spread out as if they fought over the space of the picture. And I believe I got one or two photos of my red-eyed da and myself. He was drunk and happy, and in the end of the night, when Tara and the boys were fast asleep in their home, and when the party had derailed, I packed Filip in my car and drove up to his apartment. He was singing loudly while I helped him up the stairs, and into his bed. He told me he loved me, that I was the most beautiful woman in the world, together with Kerrianne, of course, and that he would kill anything or anyone that tried to hurt me. He hugged me tightly, sobbing loudly on my shoulder before I could manage to tuck him in, and he went out. I kissed him good night, and carefully closed the door to his room.

I poured me a glass of water and looked at the refrigerator door as I did. I had looked at it many times before, but I'd always felt this pain when seeing it. It was adored with pictures of a little girl, with brown hair and big, wondering brown eyes. I assumed it was Kerrianne on those photos. I rested my eyes on one special photo; da sat in a chair, with a silly yet heart-warming grin on his then unspoiled face, with a tiny baby in his arms. Probably the happiest moment in his life, holding his newborn child. He had never held me like that when I was a baby, and he never would. I sighed deeply as I sat down by the kitchen window. The feeling in my belly was torn; I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay with my da, get to know him better, take back all those years I'd been without him, learn to love his life as he did, but at the same time, I knew this place wasn't for me. This life, even though I saw the charm in it, wasn't my destiny. And I had to go back and take my degree. After that, I might see it all a bit more differently. With da's blessing, I might be able to reach out to Kerrianne again and be the sister she needed. I wanted to help, to heal a broken family, _my_ family. Mum was no longer here, she was free. Brian was out of my life. Granny and poppy were both gone. I had my da, here, in Charming. I had my sister in Belfast. And where was I?

It was well past five in the morning when I fell asleep on the sofa, and I woke up around noon with the smell of fresh coffee filling my nose. I sat up, noticing I had a soft and warm cover over me, not the blanket I had found when I lay down, and I heard joyful crooning from the kitchen. Filip saw me and smiled widely.

"Good mornin', sunshine," he said as he brought me a cup of fresh, smoking hot coffee. He then nodded towards the cover. "I… tucked ye in this mornin'. Ye looked so cold. Hope ye don' mind."

"No," I said and shook my head. "I don'."

"Well," he said and sat down beside me. "How did ye like 'em? The club, I mean?"

"Oh, they were all nice," I said. "Real gentlemen." I grinned, and he rolled his eyes and dropped his head backwards in a dissatisfied groan.

"I'm sorry!" he moaned. "They're filthy bastards! Who was on ye? Was it Juice? 'Cause if he was, I swear I'll kill him!"

"No," I chuckled. "No one was on me! Except for Tig… but he apologised, so we're good."

Filip sighed loudly. "Aye, there's somethin' not right in tha' man's head."

"Da," I said, fiddling with the edge of my cup, "do ye usually go out with girls my age?"

I caught him just as he was about to swallow some coffee, and made him caught violently. "Wha'?!"

"Oh, no, there's no shame in tha'," I said, hoping he would catch on to my sarcasm. "At least their over eighteen, right?"

He looked at me, eyes big, looking sheepish. "I—how—why do ye think I would—wha' are ye talking about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, don' tell me ye're the only honourable man in tha' club! I see right through tha' shite. But I'm not here to criticise ye. Ye've got yer life. I just hope ye're happy with it."

There was a shade of pink across Filip's cheeks as he continued to sip his coffee. He didn't look at me. Maybe I had damaged him for good by saying that to him?

I sighed. "So, I've only got another day here. Ye wanna do somethin'?"

"Ye're goin' so soon?" he asked and looked up at me. The blushing on his cheeks weren't gone, but he seemed too surprised to care.

"Aye," I said. "I've got te get back te school."

He nodded. "Yeah. Got te get tha' degree, right?"

"A Telford never gives up, remember?" I smiled.

He nodded. "Tha's right." He smiled before he took another sip of his coffee. "When are ye comin' back, then?"

I shrugged. "Dunno. After graduation, probably. Won' have the money to come any sooner."

"Don' worry 'bout money," he said. "I'll send ye whatever ye need."

"Thanks, da," I smiled. "Don' think tha'll be necessary, though. I don' want te live off of ye."

He shook his head. "Scarily like yer mum, now, ye are."

I smiled. "I am?"

"Aye." He took another sip of his coffee. "Wouldn' let me help her with anythin'. Stubborn one, she was."

I smiled again, and without warning, I leaned against him, cuddling up to my father, as if I was a wee child, and just let him hold me, like a father holds his daughter, and we sat like that, for quite some time. He stroke my hair, and I just forgot that I was a grown woman now. I forgot that I'd only known the man for a day. I forgot everything. I was just a wee baby in the arms of my loving da, listening to his steady breaths, cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest.

Finally, he took a deep breath and started to pull away. "Come on, love. I know wha' we'll do today."

I nodded, and without asking what he had in mind, I got ready, and an hour later, we were back on the bike, riding out of Charming, out into the desert. I had no idea where we were heading, but I didn't care. I trusted him. Maybe he wanted to show me something. I didn't know. I just loved to feel the wind in my hair, to feel the roar of the motorcycle beneath me, and to know that whatever awaited was new and exciting.

He showed me the beautiful nature of where he lived. The Pacific, the canyons, the desert, things I would never see in Scotland. We stopped to eat dinner on one place, and then stopped for some ice cream on another. I took a silly picture of us with our ice creams in our hands, both of us grinning like children with our sunglasses on. I believe we both had the same pain in our stomachs after laughing so hard for so long, and when we headed back to Charming, the sunset set fire to the sky, and the horizon melted into the desert, and we were riding in a storm of fire and gold. I closed my eyes, just focusing on the wind, the vibration, the freedom. Slowly, I released Filip's waist and stretched my arms out, as if I was flying, feeling the wave of adrenaline and joy rush over me like some kind of tornado. This was worth waiting all these years for. My da.

There always comes a time when a good bye is the only thing left. I didn't want to let go of him. I truly didn't. Because I knew, that when I let go, I would leave a part of me behind. I know it might sound a bit cheesy, but the two days I had spent in Charming were the best two days of my life. I had relived a childhood, the childhood I never had with a father I never knew. But it all felt so right.

I cried when I had to let him go and take a seat in my rental. He didn't cry, but I saw the tears in his eyes nonetheless. I gave him my address and asked him to write me, which he promised, and then I was on my way, leaving a part of me – a part I'd always known were missing, but never found until now – behind. I left Charming behind, and when the plane took off, I left sunny California behind, and eventually, America.

I went home.

It wasn't until I unpacked my bags back in my apartment in Edinburgh I found the envelope on top of my clothes. It just said, "To Katie", and I tore it open and found two papers. One of them was a letter.

'_Dearest Katie,_

_I couldn't sleep tonight, knowing you'd be gone tomorrow. So now I'm sitting in the kitchen, listening to your heavy breaths from the living-room. It's strange, I know it is, but after these days, it's like I've always known you. I love you, Katie, like the daughter I never knew I had, but showed up at my club unexpectedly one day. Pun intended. _

_Take care of Kerrianne for me, will you? I know she'll love you once she meets you. Don't let Fiona scare you off (not that I expect anything will), and if she gives you trouble, tell her to give me a call. Next time you come over here, it would be nice to have both my girls coming over. And I don't include Fiona in those two. I stole a photo from you, as well, the one with the ice creams. Figured you had enough photos of us as it is after Able's birthday party. I have it on my fridge, so that I can look at it every morning when I open it. It's never coming down. _

_I also sent you a gift. I know it's not the right way to say I'm sorry, but it's at least a start. And before you start swearing and spitting about how you don't want my help, I couldn't care less. This is my gift, for all the birthdays I've missed._

_Tha gaol agam ort__, mo meanbh calman._

_Love,_

_Your old man' _

While tears left my eyes I looked at the other paper he'd sent me. It was a document confirming that a bank account had been opened for me, with over fifty thousand dollars on it. I didn't want to know how he had gotten the money, and he was right, I didn't want his help. But this was his gift, and I swore to myself, that this money was to be used for my travels to the US. To da. And I would bring my sister. I would mend this broken family.

For all the times we hadn't had together in the past, and for all the times we could have together in the future, I would mend this family. I would make it whole. God knows we deserved it.

**Fin.**

* * *

**A/N**: This was my first SoA fanfiction, I hope I got the characters right. Oh, and the last thing in the letter, is an attempt on Scottish Gaelic, and please, if I messed it up completely, tell me!

**Tha gaol agam ort -** I love you

**Mo meanbh calman - **My little dove

Again, if I screwed it up, please tell me!

Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed it! Review are always appreciated!

Peace out!

~Well I Don't Mind


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